


눈을 감고서 또 네게로/ Whisperings Of You

by OreoPromises



Category: B.A.P, K-pop, Monsta X (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Biker Daehyun, Composer Agust D, Dancer Park Jimin, First Meetings, M/M, Sassy Youngjae, Seoul University AU, Shamelessness, Supernatural Elements, Tags and Characters added as I write, Theatre, arts school, audition, bangtan - Freeform, kpop, multifandom - Freeform, stage makeup, vocals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OreoPromises/pseuds/OreoPromises
Summary: The students at an art school in Seoul start the new year, unaware of the gravity of the three first meetings to come. No one is quite as they seem, with their own skills and abilities unravelled as they grow reluctantly closer, yet for these relationships to work out it would take nothing less than devine intervention.*This fic centers around three couples from different bands, with many other characters and tags still to be added so as not to spoil anything*Chapter 1- Agust just wanted the early morning auditions he was being made to play for end as quickly as possible, until the last auditioner steps forward.Chapter2- Yoo Youngjae has three goals in mind for his first day of the new year: make it to class on time, stay calm, and stay away from any new faces. Sadly, he doesn't get his wishes, instead running into an unfamiliar student on a motorbike he has a feeling might just ruin his entire year.





	1. Glow

**Author's Note:**

> L

Agust made his way sullenly up the steps to the academy's theatre, passing through the entrance with a hood pulled up over bleached hair and rolling a new piercing around his mouth. His usually fowl mood had been worsened by the fact he was on campus on a saturday (though this was his fault, being caught drinking in one of the smaller music rooms well after curfew) and early at that, the last-resort-coffee in his hand not helping to clear his head of the dark morning mood. God he hated coffee.

 

The slouched figure walked through the rows of red spectator chairs and up the stage steps. A dark grand piano had already been moved to upstage right- Agust dropped his coffee near the music sheets on the piano, knowing it would drive the teachers watching over the day’s proceedings crazy- so the player wouldn’t distract from the other students. His punishment was to play accompaniment for students applying for the academy’s dance department: it was still bright fall, and new students were still being accepted to some of the unfilled courses. Agust himself was in his second last year here, well into a composition course, and wasn’t looking forward to a day of much younger, arrogant dance students performing to his music. They were a department he tended to avoid. They were talented far too young, and far too different from him.   

 

Eventually some of the dance department teachers filtered in, taking seats behind a desk set before the first row, and Agust began organising the music he had been given. Nothing looked that challenging, even interesting, and the appearance of the main panelist added to Agust’s grievances. She had been not only the one to catch and punish him, but the one to observe his own audition too. Here she was again, judging potential students in a subject other than her own, and Agust felt the old urge rise again to scream at her to go judge the theatre students, in a department she actually knew shit about. 

 

Within twenty minutes the auditionees were taking their seats, positioned in two rows at the back of the enormous stage and near the wings, leaving Agust staring at a few teens dressed in leotards that looked ready to faint. He just prayed time would tick by quickly. 

 

The first dancer was called up, completing a bland ballet routine without a hitch, and was quickly guided to a seat in the middle of the theatre, where the students would watch their components and wait to be thanked and dismissed. The girl’s skill had visibly worsened some of the other dancers states, and in the routines to follow b-boyers lost their balance and yet more ballet dancers landed jumps badly. A tap dancer- so far the only one not asking for Agust’s accompaniment- lost his beat entirely, and stood flustered even as Agust quietly tapped it out for him under the teacher’s disapproving glares, trying to recall moves he had probably spent months memorising. As unfortunate as all this was, Agust so far had been unimpressed- no dancer seemed to stand out from the rest, and when he watched them briefly, nerves were all he could see, no one paying real attention to the music. For the most part, they bored him. 

 

The last auditioner didn’t move downstage until after one o’clock. Waiting almost three hours didn’t seem to affect him however, and as he bowed to the panel of teachers Agust noticed many of his competitor’s gazes lingering on the small figure. He wasn’t dressed like the others (no leotard or irritatingly sparkling dress) but all in white- plain shirt, converse and white jeans ripped so most of his thighs were bare. Unstyled hair fell across his forehead, dark and messy, contrasting his clothes. Agust too found it strangely hard to look away, the odd energy of the boy evident even from behind, stealing everyone's attention. A few of the dancers in the back grew restless, looking aggravated and fidgeting in their seat, many whispering to each other behind their hands. The panel, however, still looked indifferent.

 

He was finished with his introduction- Park Jimin, two years younger than Agust, auditioning to transfer from another university to the dance department- and the blonde moved his eyes back to the piano in front of him, turning his sheet music over to find Park Jimin’s request. Shit- what was this guy doing? The auditionee’s number was scrawled at the top of another standard piece of music paper, but below that were no notes. The only thing on the paper was an inked question mark, scribbled giant to cover every bar.

 

Agust’s hands hovered above the black and white keys- he hadn’t prepared for this and his fingers froze, unable to get over the shock of the boy in front of him asking him to play however he wanted: he could dance to it. The panelists were beginning to glare at the player, clicking their pens irritably, and only when he heard the seat of the Head scrape back did Agust find the keys at last.         

 

He started slow, not wanting the dancer to choke in the first seconds, but was surprised when the boy started to move. His arms swept through the air matching every sweet note, his body anticipating every change in Agust’s playing before it happened- a background of contemporary training was clear. But that didn’t seem to be all of it. Agust felt the music quicken out of his control, and Jimin’s movements became sharper and sharper as the music built. He moved with incredible speed, his routine seeming to overcome him and flow out beyond his command, flinging his small frame around the stage with strongly controlled steps. Agust felt a pull to those movements, and a desire to challenge the boy. He slowed his piece again, stitching different tempos together in a complex pattern, but never did Jimin falter. As the two minutes allotted waned, Agust’s playing reached its peak. A change in light disturbed the composers clear focus. 

 

A blue glow had began to surround the leaping figure, growing steadily brighter as the spontaneous routine mixed contemporary and a style Agust had never seen before. Alarmed, he looked to the others in the theatre. None of their faces showed any kind of alarm, remaining in the entranced expressions Jimin had dragged out with his first moves. No one else seemed to be noticing the glow, now so vivid certain particles had started glinting, as if reflecting the harsh stage lights. When the boy turned his eyes flashed like lightning, crackling blue through the lashing flurry of white. 

 

Agust’s breath caught and as if from a distance he heard the crashing piano music shut out abruptly. Jimin’s movements stopped just as abruptly, timed so well the sudden silence seemed planned, leaving the audience gaping up at the stage breathlessly in the echo of the routine. The blue light had snapped too, and as the sudden buzzing sound which signalled the end of two minutes travelled through the theatre, Park Jimin looked ordinary once more.  

 

The dancers were dismissed- the academy would be in touch with any successful participants- and Agust allowed to leave campus at last. He rushed from the room as the dancers chatted and retrieved their possessions, hands fumbling in his pockets as he practically ran down the steps and out of the campus grounds. As the natural light exploded around him, he a the cigarette, flashing blue eyes hovering before him, trying to push thoughts of insanity to the back of his mind.   


	2. Fuel

Youngjae walked across campus cradling a cup of iced green tea and files of overflowing paper. It was hot, even this early in the morning, and he savoured the slight breeze that rustled the silky fabric of his oversized shirt. The start of the year was always hard for him, the dozens of new faces and reintroduction of a timetable and responsibilities too strange after a much-savoured break, and this morning in particular he was walking as if in a haze, focused solely on making it to class without unwanted troubles. 

He was halfway through his vocal course, and was really at this point simply hanging on for the amount of free time his course provided- the course itself was not precisely stress free. Youngjae himself slept very little, pouring all of his time into perfecting some vocal technique he hoped he would finally be happy with. For the ‘experience’ the academy provided, he also worked on many performances (either solo or with other students) for weeks on end to perfect. Academy life wasn’t easy for him, but he loved the independence of it- even if he had to work in a crappy cafe down the street (though he knew even this he loved, the challenge providing the only opportunity to indulge his love of watching the other ‘academic’ student rush to complete essays on deadlines, that and his borderline addiction to caffeine... ) He was on his way to meet one of the few friends he had made here- in his first class of the new year. 

As Youngjae passed down the streets before the academy, the loud grumble of an engine became audible. The insufferable noise grew louder and louder, until the only thing it could be became clear- a motorbike, coming around the corner of a tall brick building Youngjae was currently passing. Just as the student realised the noise’s source, a black bike, sleek and thin, sped around the corner, screeching to a stop in front of him. It blocked his pass across the road and so he stood there shocked and silent, clutching his cup and files closer, as the rider removed his helmet. 

His eyes widened as the hair trapped under the black plastic fell down in pink and lilac locks. The bike owner had unmarked, warm skin and dark eyes, lined in sweeps of black and heavily lidded. The boy’s lips were thick and his face incredibly small, topping a slim but muscled frame apparent under the rider’s dark leather jacket and extremely tight jeans (neither of which, Youngjae noted, would protect him at all should the bike fall). But, by the way he was looking at Youngjae- and his rather dramatic entrance- he clearly knew he was good looking.

“I haven’t seen you before.” The voice that came out was so much smoother than Youngjae had expected, and heavy with a Busan accent. Youngjae tried to stifle the startled look, but apparently something flashing across his face was caught by the stranger, as he kept talking in that smooth voice, dipping to honey tones as he smiled “I’m sure I would’ve remembered you.” He had a way of smiling that made Youngjae nervous- it was sly and arrogant, far too perfect, and far too conscious. The boy’s head tilted down to the files in Youngjae’s grasp “Student?”

Shaking off thoughts of that voice, Youngjae snapped himself back to the moment, and felt annoyance seap in. “Yes” he gestured in front of him with the cup “and you’re blocking my way, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“For a pretty thing like you, not at all.” Despite his rather unlikeable appearance the boy did move his bike forward a few paces, clearing enough room for Youngjae to see the opposite lights he wished to cross to. He started to move towards them, but stopped short when the cyclist continued to talk . That fucking voice.

“Leaving so soon though. I had wished we could get better acquainted-” He glanced at the boy again to see a teasing, sad expression on his face, as he lifted the helmet off his lap. “Though I’m sure there will be another time.” As the helmet fell back over the stranger's face, Youngjae only just caught the formings of a sharp smile, and shivered slightly at the look in the boy’s eyes, raking over his frame through the helmet’s visor. The bike’s engine revved, noise erupting again as he sped down the street, and Youngjae did his best to return his breathing to normal, anger at the stranger gradually wavering as he sped away himself.

With the interruption setting his morning slightly back, Youngjae barely made it to class on time, bursting through the door just as he saw his teacher behind him enter the corridor. He scanned the small room quickly, trying to find who he was looking for in a rush to beat his professor. He threw himself down next to Minhyuk in a fluster of loose paper and quickly embraced his closest friend at the academy. Though Minhyuk was a year older than him they were together in this class, as it was more a supplement to their other studies than a full course itself, and the numbers were small. Their professor entered within a minute, shooting Youngjae a vaguely disapproving look, and the first special effects and costume lesson was underway.

They all knew what to expect from the first day of this course- having all been through it at least twice before, some (like Minhyuk) much more- and glancing around Youngjae could feel the energy in the air. At the start of every year the makeup and costume department moved to the numerous backstage dressing rooms of the academy’s theatres. The theatre students would be waiting there, having agreed to let the former work on them- it was a way of preparing students for the course to come (every student should look different at the end, and the task was timed and even included distractions to mimic a true performance night), but also ensuring the two departments knew each other and could work together seamlessly. 

Students from both departments looked forward to the infamous task, initially started by their teachers as a competition of their students but slowly simplified to an easy first lesson. The makeup department was briskly split in two, and the groups headed to opposite sides of the campus. Minhyuk and Youngjae had mercifully been given the same theatre, and so rushed across the grounds huddled together, mumbling and giggling about the previous summer. Though they had been together for most of it, Minhyuk respected the younger’s need for time alone and indoors, recharging his energy and not having to deal with others, and they found they still had many stories to share. Before he knew it, Youngjae was filing backstage with the others, stopping in front of the last free booth. 

Backstage had been set up especially so that the theatre students were each given a leather chair in booths separated by black cloth-covered dividers. The lights in here were bright white, and every performer stared at their own reflection in a gleaming mirror above the supplies spread over the attached white gloss table. As soon as Minhyuk left and Youngjae entered his own booth, the easy smile fell from his face. 

The first thing he noticed was the bright pink hair, now parted down the side. The second thing he noticed was the blank, yet vaguely smug, expression staring back at him. Whereas before properly looking at his charge he had assumed they had been spending an irritating amount of time staring at their own reflection, he realised now, trying not to stare back at those darkly lit eyes, that they had been watching him.

The motorcyclist from earlier finally turned in his seat, one leg crossed atop the other in an extremely laid back posture. Closer, Youngjae could see how his eyes glinted in the light, and smell something like petrol but sweeter on the other, heady and intoxicating. His eyes stayed on Youngjae’s face for a moment before dragging over to the small square of paper stapled to the divider. “Youngjae” the man read with a grin, eyes lifting back to the named’s wary expression “I’m sure you can guess who I am.” Youngjae too looked at the tag: Daehyun. He decided he wouldn’t need the manufactured distractions this year. 

The makeup artist moved around the chair without a word, trying to keep his face showing pure annoyance, but he knew his hands trembled slightly as he moved to inspect his tools. He was quickly regretting his choice of silk shirt and choker today, as he could sense Daehyun’s gaze behind him, far too obvious. Deciding he much prefered seeing what the boy was doing, he turned with brush in hand- Youngjae hadn’t noticed the boy was wearing no makeup other than the liner around his eyes, and felt another kick of annoyance at the other’s skin. Ignoring it, he began covering his model’s face with foundation- Daehyun drawing in a sharp breath as the brush first touched his skin- trying to also disregard the slim hand tapping on the chairs arm, far too close to his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is very different from the first   
> I apologise for Daehyun, but no promises that he'll get better..... ;)  
> (If anyone has some good one liners for him by the way please fill the comments with them, I want nothing more for this fic than that haha)  
> Sorry this took so long to post, I had planned another chapter to go between these but ended up rearranging things  
> Thanks for reading as always,  
> L
> 
> (andthesunranon is my instagram, I post about archive things as well as draw--Come say hi!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will focus on another band~~~  
> I now have an instagram (andthesunranon), COME BE MY FRIEND I'd like to know more about you  
> xx,  
> L


End file.
